


Burning Daylight

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Driving, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 02, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: "If you can’t drive and get your dick sucked at the same time, then yes, it can be my fault."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherie_morte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherie_morte/gifts).



Whenever Dean says, “Hey Sam, keys,” and throws them over the car at him, Sam knows he’s up to something. Dean doesn’t let Sam drive his girl for just any old reason. Sometimes if they’ve been driving for fifteen hours straight, all night, in the rain, Sam has to _trick_ his brother into swapping seats so he can get a few hours of shuteye.  
  
So when Dean comes out of the gas station store, tucking his wallet into his back pocket and smirking, and dangles the keys in Sam’s direction, Sam is instantly on alert. He eases himself off the passenger door and takes the keys, eyebrow raised, putting up only the slightest of fusses because he doesn’t want to push his luck. Dean shrugs, spreads his hands wide, and then gives Sam’s shoulder a shove.  
  
“Get in already, bitch, we’re burning daylight.”  
  
So Sam hotfoots it around the front of the car and opens the driver-side door. He waits for Dean to take the nozzle out of the car before he turns it on, and reaches through the steering wheel to reset the mileage counter as Dean climbs in on the other side. Dean kicks Sam’s backpack out of the way of his feet, making himself comfortable in Sam’s space, and spreads his arm along the back of the seat. Sam pulls out of the station, onto the highway ramp, and they’re back on the road. It’s a hundred miles to anywhere, and the afternoon sun is shining in Sam’s face.  
  
He tries to keep an eye on Dean, still uncertain about his brother’s motivation, but Dean just nudges his sunglasses up and tips his head back against the seat. The case he looked up doesn’t seem incredibly pressing, some kind of cyclical haunting, so they don’t need to rush to get anywhere just yet. Sam settles into the seat, knees wide and elbows loose, and rolls down the window an inch.  
  
It’s only ten minutes before Dean’s fingers are brushing the back of his neck, slightly too casual. Sam keeps his eyes on the road and his breathing slow. No reason to ruin the game right away. He can sense Dean shifting beside him, easing a little closer, and he fights a smile.  
  
Dean traces the nape of his neck with two fingers, skating up along the line of his vertebrae into his hair, and then back down again. His thumb curls gently behind Sam’s ear, stroking, and Sam can’t suppress the shiver that runs down his spine. Dean grins, still hiding behind his sunglasses, but at least now he’s leaning towards Sam with intent. Sam slumps a little, shifting down in his seat. Dean’s warm hand squeezes the back of his neck briefly, and then slides down his arm and jumps to his upper thigh.  
  
“Dude,” Sam says, spreading his knees apart anyway, “Slow your roll; I'm drivin' here.”  
  
“Not another car in sight,” Dean says, fingers slipping to the seam of his jeans. “C’mon, man!”  
  
Sam shrugs. “You gonna take the blame if we crash?”  
  
“If you can’t drive and get your dick sucked at the same time,” Dean says, curving his palm over the swelling line of Sam’s erection, “then yes, it can be my fault.”  
  
Sam’s stomach clenches hotly, and he goes from semi-interested to rock-hard in almost an instant. “Fine,” he says, struggling to control his voice, “as long as we’re clear.”  
  
“Crystal.” Dean’s fingers tighten around Sam’s dick in his jeans, massaging it. Sam grits his teeth, spreading his knees even farther, and eases off the gas a little. His pulse is already pounding hard and fast in his neck and between his legs, and Dean scoots across the bench seat. He puts his lips to the shell of Sam’s ear, and his soft exhale sends another ripple of pleasure through Sam’s body. Dean presses a kiss to his ear, drags his lips down to the curve of Sam’s jaw, and Sam holds his breath. Dean lingers, teeth just barely touching Sam’s skin, until Sam is almost vibrating with the anticipation, and then bites down. Sam grunts, even though he knew it was coming, and Dean’s lips turn up in a smile. He licks the spot he bit, slurping gently, and rubs his fingertips up the length of Sam’s dick and against the tight weight of his balls.  
  
Sam takes his foot off the gas altogether and says, “Hold.” Dean grabs the steering wheel so Sam can push his hips off the seat and wrestle his jeans down to mid-thigh. His cock bounces and slaps against his belly, and Dean huffs a little laugh. He covers it with his hand as Sam takes the wheel back, making it jerk in his grip, and Sam can feel the little blurt of pre-come that slips out of his slit. The road is long and straight ahead of him, but he can’t take his eyes off it. Even if there isn’t another car on the road, he has to focus. Even with Dean thumbing the head of his cock, breathing heavily against his shoulder and licking his lips.  
  
“Just,” Sam says, locking his thigh so that he won’t jolt the accelerator, “just do it, Dean.”  
  
Dean takes off his sunglasses and throws them on the dashboard. They slide to the other end of the car and wedge in the corner under the windshield while Dean puts one knee in the footwell and opens his mouth. The first touch on the underside of his dick makes Sam swear, knuckles white on the wheel. Dean murmurs something, spreading his knees and grinding his crotch into the seat, and slides his lips up to encircle Sam’s head. Sam jerks again, cock jumping, and Dean’s tongue catches the salty spill.   
  
“Shit,” Sam whispers. He wants to look down, watch his brother with his head in his lap. He likes seeing Dean’s mouth stretched around his dick. Sam is not small, and it’s rare that Dean can get him all the way in, but god _damn_ does Sam like watching him try. He pries one hand off the wheel and places it gently on the back of Dean’s head, and Dean grunts. Sam presses harder. He can feel Dean relaxing, consciously opening his mouth, jaw, throat, and Sam’s cock slides another inch in.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,” Sam says, “Dean,” and Dean squeezes his knee. He’s breathing hard through his nose, and Sam tugs on his hair to get him up before he kills himself. “Jesus.”  
  
The road curves a little to the right. Dean pulls his mouth off Sam’s dick with a wet slurp and takes a deep breath. He shifts his right hand to the floor between Sam’s knees and grips Sam’s cock with the slippery fingers of his left hand. Sam’s trembling already, aching for him to get back to it, but he’s the one who wanted Dean off in the first place. Dean cranes his neck, licking delicately over the swollen head of Sam’s cock, and then rubs the whole thing against his wet mouth. Sam’s fingers clench in his hair, holding him there. The little teasing swipes of his lips and tongue send electricity through Sam’s body, making his hands and feet flex, his back arch. He wants to fuck Dean’s mouth, hammer him until he has tears in his eyes, but he can’t. He’s never prayed so hard for the spontaneous generation of Cruise Control in his life.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean murmurs, lips like velvet against Sam’s oversensitive skin, and then he’s opening up again and drawing Sam in. He sucks Sam deep, hard, and Sam’s hips jerk up off the seat. The car jumps forward with the pulse of gas flooding the engine, and Dean makes a noise that would be laughter if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of Sam’s cock.  
  
Sam tries to relax. He drops his shoulders and takes a deep breath, loosens his knees and stretches his fingers. His cock twitches, swelling between Dean’s lips, and his balls tighten a little. It’s not working. He can’t hold off. Dean’s good at this, fucking amazing, even, and he _likes_ it. He’ll suck Sam’s dick in a second if Sam asks, not that he does, not often anyway. It’s weird to ask that of your brother, right? Even if he really wants to?  
  
Dean squirms, pushing his crotch into the seat and grinding. His throat flutters around Sam’s dick, and he shifts, putting a hand down on the floor between Sam’s legs. Now he’s got a better angle, and he bobs up and down, fucking his mouth on Sam’s cock. Sam can’t help the little cry that escapes him. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, but the car hasn’t wobbled. Dean moans, muffled, and his forearm digs hard into Sam’s abdomen when he works it between them so he can jerk Sam’s cock while he sucks it. His hand moves in counterpoint, slippery and tight, and soon he’s just jacking Sam off with his mouth fixed around the head. His tongue is flickering against the slit, rubbing circles into Sam’s intensely sensitive skin, all the nerves firing at once. Dean pops the ridge of Sam’s head in and out of the circle of his lips, and Sam fists his hand tight in Dean’s hair.  
  
“Dean,” he says suddenly, pleasure gathering tight between his legs, “Dean, holy shit.”  
  
Dean grunts, jerking faster, his own hips rocking against the seat of the car, and Sam sucks in a breath through his teeth.  
  
Apparently, he can keep his eyes open when he comes. His body goes tight and his hips lift off the seat, pushing into Dean’s mouth. His right leg locks and his left thigh strains, and his cock jerks again and again as he pulses his load down Dean’s hot throat. He moans, shocked and almost not believing it. His shoulders are shaking, and he feels like there's electricity in his blood.  
  
“Fuck,” he says, as his ass hits the seat again. “Jesus, Dean.”  
  
Dean pulls off, wipes his mouth on Sam’s shirt, and presses his forehead into Sam’s belly. He’s panting, rutting his hips against the seat in short, sharp thrusts. Sam’s spent cock twitches, and he reaches over with his right hand, slaps it down hard right in the center of Dean’s ass, and wedges his fingers tight into the seam of his jeans. He digs in, pushing the fabric between Dean’s cheeks, too rough to be comfortable. Dean damn near shouts, spasming, and Sam can feel him shaking as he comes in his pants, mouth open on Sam’s bare skin. He shoves his hand harder, harder until Dean curses, and eases off as Dean’s breathing slows and he sags limp on the seat, hands loose.  
  
Then he’s pushing himself up, resettling into the passenger seat, thighs wide around the wet spot at the fly of his jeans. He holds the wheel so Sam can yank his pants up and tuck himself in, and then sighs deeply, smiling.  
  
“Been thinking about that for hours.”  
  
Sam looks away from the road to get a glimpse of him, fucked out and smug. “Really?”  
  
“Lot of forethought, Sammy,” Dean says, flashing him a grin. “Whaddaya say?”  
  
“Thank you?”  
  
Dean snorts. Sam grins back at him. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” Dean says eventually. He closes his eyes, still smiling, and he’s dozing in minutes. Sam sneaks one more look, at Dean’s swollen mouth, his loose hands, the stain on his pants, and nods to himself. They get away with the dumbest shit.


End file.
